


Bed of Roses

by everydayescapeartist



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Catching Fire, Catching Fire Spoilers, F/M, First Time, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everydayescapeartist/pseuds/everydayescapeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of the Quarter Quell, Snow has one more surprise for his star-crossed lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Visual Prompt: Snow’s Roses
> 
> This takes place in Catching Fire after the Quarter Quell interviews and after Peeta and Katniss have come back upstairs and said their goodbyes to Haymitch.

We enter my room and halt in our tracks. It’s there, that overwhelming smell that fills me with hatred and fear. Peeta’s eyes follow mine and land on the bed; it is covered in rose petals. How did Snow get someone in here so fast? Or was this something he had done even before our riot-inducing show downstairs? I grip Peeta’s hand fiercely. We exchange a glance and look further around the room. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket and two glass flutes on the nightstand. The dark rounded glass bulb in the far corner of the room that I have come to understand is a surveillance camera has been joined by three more of its kind in the remaining corners. The bathroom door stands open and I can see that twin robes now hang just inside the door. And on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed lie what I can only imagine are some of the Capitol’s finest undergarments, his and hers. I feel the blood drain from my face as realization starts to set in. My fingers go limp and Peeta’s follow suit until we’ve released each other’s hand. His is shaking as he reaches toward one of the red satin pillowcases, upon which a white envelope rests. It isn’t sealed and he carefully pulls out the notecard from within, his eyes darting to mine briefly before he holds it up so we both can read it.

_“Since you did not get to have a Capitol wedding, enjoy a Capitol wedding night. Your families will enjoy champagne and roses tonight too. It is the least I can do. Don’t forget to get a little bit of sleep. The arena awaits. And Miss Everdeen…aim high.”_

Snow’s signature stands out as boldly as if it’s been written with blood, though the tight curves of the letters are black, like the soul of the man who’s written it. The riddle of his message is not hard to decipher, especially with the other clues within the room. We are to be as husband and wife, to engage in marital relations — to have sex. I’ve tried not to think of it so boldly before, putting that off until I actually had to think and act on it. I wouldn’t say I’ve been entirely successful. And then I gave up on the idea that it would actually ever happen, with some level of disappointment if I’m honest with myself. But now…what does Snow want? Does he just want to force us because he can? Make sure we know he is still controlling us even in this, something so intimate? Does he want to watch for his own pleasure? Does he want to videotape it and show it after we’re gone — during the games or after, as some further in-depth coverage of our love affair or perhaps just for profit? After we’ve been dead a while and sympathies have faded, will we just be some sick form of entertainment for the Capitol citizens again? I can’t even wrap my head around all of the possibilities or all of Snow’s motivations. What is clear is the threat if we do not yet again bow to his power. Our families have been visited tonight, are likely being watched, could still come to harm at his hands by any order issued. He has done the least so far but if we do not comply, he could do so much more, so much worse than just watching them or invading their space. In truth, he could do such harm whether we comply or not, especially if tonight’s spectacle has had the desired effect in the Capitol and beyond in the days to come. In some ways, I think we’ve both come to accept this, as terrifying as it is. Still, if we can do something immediately to protect our families, shouldn’t we? I feel like I’m going to be sick.

Peeta takes the note and stiffly walks it over to the desk along the opposite wall, dropping it into the trash can beneath. He removes his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the desk chair. I steel my courage and raise my eyes to meet his. What I see there makes my heart clench. It’s the anguish I saw the day I suggested he propose to me but taken to a new level. It is fury, despair, fear, concern, disgust and hopelessness in a raging torrent of blue. I drop my gaze; the intensity is too much in this moment when I can barely process my own thoughts and feelings.

We stand in silence for several minutes and then Peeta clears his throat quietly. Staring at the floor, I can see as he leans on the desk and bends to remove his shoes and socks. My breath hitches as I hear the sound of his shirt being pulled from the waistband of his pants and his tie being loosened. I look up again to see him pulling it up over his head and laying it atop his jacket. His fingers move to the top button of his shirt but he stops, sees whatever emotions my eyes are displaying, and drops his hands to his sides. Then, he moves toward the end of the bed and looks down at the nightclothes, if you could dare to call them that, which have been laid out for us.

When he speaks, I can tell that he is trying to keep his voice even but is having a rough time of it. ”Katniss…are you…? I don’t even know what to ask right now.”

I watch him and I want to say something to ease his pain, to make this better for him, but I don’t know what. I feel desperately on the edge of breaking down, myself. And then I remember that Snow likely has ears as well as eyes in this room and I’m not sure how much it matters. Still, I’d rather speak with Peeta with privacy.

As if thinking the same thing, Peeta grabs the white silk boxers from the bench, holding them with a white-knuckled grip, as he asks me to help him remove his stage makeup. I nod my head and follow him into the bathroom, where we both look around, relieved to still see a lack of cameras in there. He turns the sink faucet on full blast and also reaches into the shower to start the water running in there. We sit on the edge of the tub and stare at each other for merely seconds before we’re in each other’s arms. He holds me tightly to him and I do the same, my head buried in his neck as his chin burrows into my collar bone. I feel the wetness of his tears on my skin as he feels mine on his. We allow ourselves these few minutes of shared sorrow but soon we both sniffle as we try to pull ourselves together and I hear my own voice, quiet and strange to my ears.

“I like it…when you kiss me.”

Peeta pulls back slowly and looks at me, a multitude of questions in his eyes. So, I continue and I am thankful that some part of my being is brave enough to do so.

“And when you touch me…my hand or my arm or my waist. And when we sleep, I…I like how we hold each other, how our bodies are pressed together.”

He’s hanging on my every word, almost in disbelief, his eyes wider, his mouth slack.

“Peeta, if…if it is to happen,” and I know he understands that very big it, “I’m…I wouldn’t want it to be with anyone else but you.”

At this, he looks down. ”But Katniss…I’ve never been your choice. I know that.”

A long moment of silence passes before I feel able to retort. ”You’re right.” Peeta moves to quickly swipe at the fresh tear that escapes his eye but I reach up and grab his hand, stopping him and pulling it to me. I place my other hand on top of his, surrounding it and squeezing gently as I speak, the words tumbling out onto themselves. ”You weren’t a choice, Peeta. You just…were. You were always there. You still are. You’re strong and you’re kind and you’re constant. And I like you. And I have feelings for you…and they just built up on me over time and I don’t think I had a choice in that, but it’s the truth. I’m glad though. Because knowing you and being with you…it’s made my, well, short life more full.”

There’s a light in his blue eyes that is resurfacing, a light I’ve seen a few times: in the cave, on stage when we were reunited after the first games, and most recently, yesterday, when we spent our entire day together up on the rooftop. The slightest smile is teasing at the corner of his lips. ”It’s also made you more talkative, apparently.”

I can’t help but to give him a bit of a smile at this. It’s true. I usually barely have a handful of words to throw together for anyone, aloud anyway. But there’s really no more time for holding out on Peeta. Maybe I can’t give him all he deserves; in fact, I’m sure I can’t because he deserves so much more than me. But I can give him my honesty; he values that greatly and so do I.

“I’m not done,” I say softly, my smile shy but my bravado holding. ”You speak of choice. Well, I’m making a choice right now, a choice to tell you all this and to tell you…I’ve thought about it before, about us, um, being…having…doing…” I’m fumbling now and I can feel the crimson on my cheeks. Luckily, Peeta seems to be comprehending.

“You’ve thought about that?”

I take in a slow breath and exhale my answer. ”Yeah.”

His lips quirk slightly and the hand I’m not holding moves to the back of his neck where he scratches nervously. ”Me too.”

“I liked those thoughts. I…” There’s no turning back now, really but still I pause before continuing. ”…thought about it yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Mmmhmm. I just…I didn’t know if…I mean, what we have between us now is good. But, when I woke up today, I was kind of sad, actually, that we’d never…well, I thought we’d never get a chance. I figured we’d be trying in vain to sleep tonight, preparing.”

“So did I. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have similar thoughts and that I didn’t want you, that I didn’t want that for us. I just…” He trails off, casting a look of disgust in the general direction of the bedroom.

“I know. But it doesn’t have to be… It’s still ours. It can still be ours, Peeta. If we can just do it because we want to be together, if we can just focus on each other and not give him any power over it. And then, if it is later shown, maybe the same folks who cried outrage tonight will be moved to do so again.”

“And maybe they won’t,” he says gently but realistically.

“And maybe they won’t,” I repeat. ”And it’s not about them. We aren’t going to perform for any purpose at all. We’re done performing. I just want that to be clear though…for us and to anyone else.”

He nods and squeezes my hand and brings his other hand down to the outside of my knee, stroking gently there. He looks so beautiful and so very mine and I don’t fight the urge to lean forward and kiss him now. He accepts my kiss and returns it wholeheartedly.

“I probably should still remove this makeup,” he says, motioning to his face as we separate and sit back.

“Sure,” I agree and rise to give him a few minutes alone for his ablutions.

Back in the bedroom, I observe the bed again, pushing down the bile that has threatened to resurface at the back of my throat. The petals are in shades of red and white, a perfect representation of Snow and all he demands, blood and innocence, sin and purity. I cross the room and sweep the covers back, petals flying to the surrounding floor or to the settee. Lying on those I cannot do. I move toward the desk and slip my shoes off next to where Peeta has left his. Then, I move back to the settee and let my fingers skim across the white silk nightie left there for me, flicking a few stray rose petals to the ground. The garment, though short and sheer, is actually simple and beautiful and I wonder if Cinna or Portia’s hand has been involved.

“Do you want a drink?” Peeta asks, exiting the bathroom several minutes later and crossing toward the nightstand and the champagne. He is wearing one of the white robes and I presume the white boxers beneath. His hair is damp and a bit mussed from his quick towel dry. It’s a good look. His face is set but he isn’t entirely hiding his nerves. I know I’m certainly not.

“Um, sure, but I just need a few minutes to, ehrm, freshen up too.”

He nods his understanding. ”Okay. I’ll have a glass waiting for you when you’re done.”

“Thanks.”

He offers me a sweet smile and I swallow the lump in my throat as I pull the nightie and coordinating panties from the bench and make my way to the bathroom. I stop several steps from the door though and realize that my dress might be a little more difficult to remove than some of the others. I recall seeing Cinna fasten tiny buttons down my spine in addition to zippering it. I open my mouth to alert Peeta to my need but before I can speak, his hands are there, moving deftly down my back as he unfastens each one and then brings his fingers to the zipper.

“Do you want me to do this as well?” he asks tentatively.

I pause for the briefest second and then move my head up and down, giving my assent.

He tugs gently downward and I feel the material loosen around my torso but I am still holding it to me with my arms. ”Thank you,” I say, giving him a small smile over my shoulder.

“My pleasure,” he says softly and I believe him. He’s so sincere and it gives me goosebumps. There really isn’t a better man for me to share this night with.

I enter the bathroom, finish undressing, remove the veil from my hair, brush my teeth, use the toilet, and take a quick shower, scrubbing the makeup from my own face. I want him to have _me_ , just me. I want to be real for him because I want him to know it is real for me now. We are not the victors tonight or the star-crossed lovers of District 12. We are just Peeta and Katniss.

When I reenter the bedroom, Peeta looks up from where he is sitting on the side of the bed and sucks in a breath. I’ve chosen to just rip the bandaid off, so to speak. My robe still hangs within the bathroom. The silky material I inhabit feels so light and delicate. I am probably puncturing my lower lip right now but I feel very exposed and a little ridiculous. As I watch the variations in Peeta’s expression though — awe, trepidation, adoration, lust — I feel slightly more confident and comfortable. He rises and offers me the glass of champagne he has poured me and I accept it, reminding myself to sip, not gulp. Peeta sips his as well and then holds his glass out toward mine.

“To great minds thinking alike,” he toasts, referring to the thoughts we earlier admitted to entertaining, and I blush despite the bravado I’ve displayed this evening.

“To us,” I reply, taking another long swig of the bubbly liquid.

Peeta’s watching me…waiting, I think. I place my glass down on the nightstand and look into his keen eyes. I let my fingers graze the lapels of his robe. ”May I?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I carefully untie the cloth belt around his waist and let the robe drift open. His chest stands before me, strong and broad and Capitol smooth. I follow my instincts and lean forward and kiss him there. I’ve done this before, very lightly, in the middle of the night or as early morning rays of sunlight have washed over us, whilst Peeta’s chest still rose and fell with sleep. I know I will do it again before we rise to face the arena.

He lets me slip the robe from his shoulders and drape it over the settee. I climb into bed because I don’t want to lose my nerve. Peeta takes one more sip from his glass and then sets it down and joins me. We could pull the covers up over us or turn out the lights, but somehow it seems right not to. We need have no shame for what we’re doing. And we deserve to fully experience it.

Peeta caresses my cheek with his thumb and then leans down and kisses me. We find our rhythm in this and hold each other more tightly. With our thin clothing, it is very easy to feel every curve, every tightening muscle and every tremor of one another’s body. I let my hands roam over his back and shoulders and arms. I let my fingers find his hair. I let my legs entwine with his, skin to skin and skin to cool metal and plastic. He lets his hand slide down my side, grips my waist and my hip. His mouth moves to my neck and my ear.

“Tell me to stop anything and I will,” he whispers.

I place my hand over his, squeeze it, and then move it to my breast. I can feel the stutter of his heart in his chest, can hear the inhalation of breath. And then I feel him start to mold my flimsily covered flesh to his palm and I sigh because I think this is just how it is supposed to feel. And when his fingers seek out my hardening nub, I gasp because it feels even better than I would have imagined. He pauses but I pull his face back to mine, letting him see my building desire before I kiss him again. As his tongue finds mine, his hand resumes its movements. After a minute or so, it retreats but soon reemerges at the hem of the nightie. His fingers feel warm and wonderful as he slips them beneath the sheer material and glides them over my abdomen slowly. When he moves them higher and the pads of two fingers, somewhat toughened from years of handling hot cookie sheets and bread loaves, skim over first one and then the other nipple, I don’t recall consciously forming the sound I hear at the back of my throat.

Peeta breaks away from the kiss, panting slightly. He studies my face for a moment, then smiles and scoots backward down the bed. I watch as he pushes silk upward and brings his lips to my exposed stomach. I shiver, in a good way. His hands find my breasts again, more confident now. I arch my back, pressing my chest more firmly into them. Accepting this gift, he squeezes and drags his thumbs over my nipples. He repeats this as his mouth moves higher. His hands leave me and I want to protest but then I feel the familiar sensation of air and nothing else. My nightie is pooled on my upper chest and my body jerks in reaction as his tongue darts out to tentatively flick one sensitive peak. His eyes meet mine and my fingers find his hair, my hand urging him back to me. He drags his tongue more deliberately and I bite my tongue to muffle my small moan. But I am too taken by sensation when he encloses me with his mouth to bother muffling my reaction. Peeta answers it with a groan of his own, moving a hand back to my opposite breast. I stiffen slightly with the fleeting thought that I am now exposed to Snow and who knows who else but I push it from my mind as quickly as I can. He can’t win. He can’t have this. Not right now. This is only for me and Peeta, who is so attuned to my body already that he pauses and lifts his head, bringing his mouth up to mine and covering my bare chest with his own. The feel of his skin on my own is amazing. He’s so warm. His kiss is searching, steadying but needy. I want him to be closer. I raise my legs at his sides and gently place my ankles over his buttocks. His hands slide down my sides, over my hips, and along the sides of my thighs. I’m pretty sure I squeak just a little as they reverse their direction and slide up the back of my thighs and land on my ass. But my focus on my backside is short-lived when I tune in to the pressure against my pelvis. I’ve felt a similar pressure against my hip, my stomach or my bottom as we’ve slept in the weeks prior. I doubt Peeta is aware or he would likely have apologized unnecessarily several times. But now this pressure has more meaning. His body is reacting to mine, to me, and I like that. He feels so hard though and I am soft. It’s more than a bit intimidating. But it’s thrilling too. I know there is something about sex that makes people really love it, do stupid things for it. I will better understand that soon, I think. I’ve already begun to.

I tilt my hips and Peeta grinds against me with a low groan. Oh, that feels good. I grip his back more tightly and press back against him. He gasps as his lips leave me and he buries them in my neck, moving with me for another few moments before bringing his hands back to my hips and stilling me.

I’m confused until Peeta explains. “I want…I want to make this last, Katniss,” he says huskily. I have little idea what I’m doing but for some reason, I trust that he has more. “Are you okay?” he whispers after a few more moments.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He raises up on his knees and brings his hands beneath my arms, to my nightie. I raise up and give him a nod as he pulls the garment up over my head. His mouth descends to my breasts again and he pays them equal detailed attention for the next several minutes. I lose myself in it for a while but am now craving the heat and the friction that we had between my legs. I am unintentionally moving my hips and Peeta splays his hand across my pelvis, giving me pause. He teases his fingers along the edge of the white panties and I gulp with anticipation. He climbs over one leg to lie at my side, kisses his way back up my neck, and speaks into my ear. “May I?” His hand is poised above the junction of my thighs and his question is clear. And I appreciate that, though we are committed to doing this, it is still at our pace, which for Peeta means my pace. Really, how could I doubt that it would’ve been him anyway eventually, if we had more time, more life to live together?

“Please,” I murmur.

He slides his hand down, cupping me gently through the fabric. It is strange, to say the least, but certainly not unpleasant. He begins to stroke lightly as he lifts his head to watch my face. I know I am flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pleasure. I’ve never been great with words and in this moment, I am definitely not feeling able to form any. Instead, I speak to him with my eyes and my faltering smile and the responsive movements of my body, which seems to know what I seek even if I don’t.

“Do you like this?”

“Mmmhmm.”

His smile is beautiful. Even if I wasn’t aching in a fantastic kind of way from his touches, I’d likely still urge him on just to see that smile. But I am feeling an ache I am unfamiliar with but that makes me want more. Feeling my desire as well as my curiosity flare (what additional pleasure lies beyond this?), I bring my own hands down to the sides of my underwear. Peeta retreats to see what I am doing and his eyes widen as I begin to slide the flimsy material down my legs. I pull it from my feet and leave it lie at the bottom of the bed. Then, I lie back down and stare up into the blue eyes I’ve come to know so well, my hand resting against his chest, over his heart. It beats for me. I know this. And I only want to take care of it. I lean up and capture his lips with my own and as we kiss, I move his hand back to the place that still tingles from his prior attentions. We moan into each other’s mouths as his fingers find the wetness my body has produced. I shudder with pleasure as he begins to explore with both short and long strokes. And then he finds a spot that makes me break our kiss and cry out. He finds my eyes and finds assurance there that it was a good exclamation. So, he rubs that spot again, begins circling it with just a light amount of pressure. I arch off the bed and grip at him desperately, perhaps a little roughly, needing him to anchor me. He looks like he wants to say something but his speech is as choked off as my own. His expression is intense though and it only adds to the fire he is so steadily building.

His middle finger slides further then and I want what I think he is moving to do. It feels good when he teases just the tip of his finger around and just inside my wet entrance. I do grunt slightly though as he slides it further in. There is a twinge of pain but mostly, it is just a foreign feeling. He continues slowly, in and out, letting me adjust. I know I will need to adjust to much more than this, which makes me nervous but brings to light my own curiosity. He is still wearing his white silk boxers, though they are very much tented now. I let my hand slide over his smooth, tight abs. Our workouts back at home have done wonderful things for his body, not that it was truly lacking before from what I could tell. But it is so strong now. My hand grazes the front of his boxers and that which strains underneath and he inhales a sharp breath. I seek out his shape more fully and he turns his head and moans my name into my hair. I begin to stroke him slowly through the sheer material and my own breath hitches again as he inserts a second finger into me, stretching me further. I am adjusting physically or am just more relaxed now though and it is feeling better than it had. I know he has taken his time with me so perfectly but I am, by nature, a less patient person. And I don’t want anymore barriers between us. I want to respect him though as he has me.

“Peeta?” I question, as I bring my hands to the waistband of his boxers, slipping a few fingers beneath.

“It’s fine, Katniss. It’s…go ahead,” he answers, his breathing stunted. I tug downward and he needs to pull back and help me anyway but soon, we are both naked as the day we were born, our hands seeking each other again. I am rather fascinated with the sight of him and he feels so velvety, solid but more pliable than I expected. I am scared but ready. I want all of him. But he has one more request and I don’t know what to expect but I nod my head nonetheless and watch as his own nuzzles near my center. His breath is hot and it makes me clutch the bedsheets in anticipation. When his tongue runs the length of me and then explores me in every way he can think of in this moment, I understand that this too is a pleasure he can bring me. There’s been so much of it, and I understand why we didn’t but part of me definitely wishes we’d explored this possibility for our relationship sooner, and not just the part that is pulsing with need right now but also the part that is beating within my chest, feeling just how right this is, just how right Peeta is.

I am climbing further still toward some kind of bliss. The sheets are balled up in my hands and my breaths are coming faster. My thighs are shaking and I feel so desperately close to…

Ohhhhhhhhhhh…

I am floating. I am all feeling and very little thought.

So, this is what all of the fuss is about. I get it now.

I come down from my high and hear the sound of my own panting. Somehow, it keeps my fire going instead of dousing it from self-consciousness. Peeta is kissing his way back up my thigh and my stomach. I wonder what it will taste like when he reaches my mouth. I have never thought of such things before really but when he’s there, his face in front of me, still wet from, well, me, it is more attractive than unattractive and I encourage the kiss that follows. I taste a tangy sweetness and it is not unpleasant. As we kiss, I feel Peeta’s hard length against my thigh. I am still semi-relaxed and I am mentally prepared for what is to follow; I’m as ready as I’m going to be. Still, I wonder if I might be able to make Peeta feel good with my mouth as he has me. I push him back gently and roll him onto his back and he stares up at me in surprise. He has really taken the reigns here tonight and I appreciate it a great deal but I don’t want to cheat him of any pleasure either, especially if it is my only chance to give it. I take some time to kiss him everywhere I want to — his face, ears, and neck, his chest and stomach…when I kiss his upper thighs, I can feel his muscles contracting beneath my hands. I turn my head and stretch my tongue out to lick him lightly. He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and I move in closer, drawing a line from base to head and back again. I place a kiss on the engorged head, at his opening, and then open my mouth to surround him with it for the first time. He tastes slightly salty and distinctly male. I couldn’t tell you exactly what that means, just that it is my impression in this moment. I experiment with how much of him I can suck in and how lightly or forcefully or slowly or vigorously I move over him. The sounds he is making are music to my ears and I am getting really accustomed to them and to what I am doing when he places his hands on either side of my head and urges me to pull away.

“Katniss, I want…I need…”

I lay back for him again, understanding dawning on me without him needing to tie the right words together. I urge him back over me and part my legs around his own. He kisses me and holds my gaze as he whispers against my lips “are you sure?”

“Yes,” I say and I know it is true.

He positions himself and I can’t help it, I hold my breath. I feel the heat of his flesh pressing into my own. We are entirely skin on skin. There is no need of a barrier of any sort — we have both received our disease prevention and pregnancy prevention shots within a safe time period, though as far as Panem is concerned, we must have skipped something along the way or had a shot fail us. Again, I feel the pinching pain I felt when he first pushed his finger into me, but to a higher degree this time, given that I am now accepting something much bigger.

Peeta watches me closely and moves slowly, making sure I am okay. It doesn’t really take too much time before I am gaining more comfort with the feel of him. The feeling of fullness is strange but more and more, it is a good feeling. And I like the feel of him pulsing periodically within me if we just stay still. But I also like the feel of him moving back and forth, particularly closer to my entrance.

“Katniss…you feel so good,” he tells me, his voice hushed and strained, broken sounds of pleasure intermingling with sweet words of affection and gratitude for me.

I caress his shoulders and kiss them when he presses closer and at a different angle. I let my hands roam to his ass and the word “mine” forms so distinctly in my mind that I should maybe be embarrassed but I’m not. He is mine. I am his. Because we want it to be so. Nothing has ever made it clearer than tonight.

I am feeling pleasure and it is increasing but it’s milder than what I felt when Peeta had his head between my thighs. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to reach orgasm again. Yes, I do know the term. I don’t mind if I don’t. All in all, from the minimal amount I have learned from the well-meaning in my life, I am still in awe of how the experience has gone, outside forces aside. I am also content to view and feel all of Peeta’s enjoyment. But he has other thoughts in mind apparently. I shouldn’t be surprised; he is ever mindful of my needs.

He brings his hand between us and finds that spot we relished earlier. It makes me utter his name…repeatedly. I feel lost but grounded in his touch. I didn’t know this combination of sensations was possible. Now, I am the one who is pulsing for him. I can tell by the look on his face that he is pleased he can do this for me. I want to hold his gaze but it becomes too difficult and I throw my head back and cry out as the pleasure washes over me in waves. Peeta moans and his body jerks and I open my eyes in time to see his flutter shut, his lips parted and his hands gripping at the sheets and the sweat-moistened skin of my thigh. Again, the word “beautiful” comes to mind.

We are reluctant to pull apart. So, we don’t right away, kissing each other and taking the additional minutes to memorize the feeling of our two bodies joined in this way, our entire beings joined in this way. The male body will only cooperate so long in this regard though and as he slips away from me, I feel the tears prick at the corners of my eyes and then sting more than just the corners. They pool and spill over and onto my cheeks and a quiet sob escapes me much as I don’t want it to. Peeta’s eyes have filled as well and he looks at me with sadness and concern and a devotion I still wonder what I ever did to earn. He leans over and flicks off the light and pulls me to him, his arms embracing me…his whole body embracing me as we cry together once again.

I want him to know…need him to know why I’m crying. I raise my head from his shoulder and bring my hand to his hair and the side of his face, wipe some of his tears away, even as mine continue to stream. ”Peeta…that was amazing. I wish… I so wish that we had more than just one night.” And I do. I wish we had infinite nights to be like this. And it breaks my heart in a way I never knew it could or would.

“I know, Katniss. I do too.” We both sniffle and then he continues. ”So, I think, with every breath I have left, I will live in this, this night, these arms.” He runs his fingers lovingly down my arm as he says this.

“I’ll allow it,” I say softly, meaningfully, “if you’ll allow me to do the same.”


End file.
